From Land to Land
by Shadowfang3000
Summary: "You can survive on your own. But you can never truly live." - After three years of wandering the globe, Bartz Klauser is left to reflect on the reason behind his journey. What is it that led him to leave his village of Lix? What was he searching for? And what is it that's stopping him from returning to his homeland?


**(A/N):** A new fic, AND one that isn't related to League of Legends? What is this blasphemy? :O

Following my Post 16 exams way back in July 2015, I was left with an incredibly large void to fill until uni began in October. So going through my to-do list, I found myself playing Final Fantasy X again after abandoning it in 2010!

While I'd attempted to get into Final Fantasy before, I'd never really had success at it what with me being too young and bad at RPGs to get very far... But after finishing FFX, I found myself wanting more. And I continued a massive playthrough of all the Final Fantasies I could get my hands on at the time, going through FFX, FFVI, FFV, FFIV, FFII and FFI! (I played 10 hours of FFXIII... I'm trying to like it, but it's next to impossible when nothing has actually happened yet ._.)

AND WITH THE STEAM SALES AND STUFF, I'M GOING THROUGH FFVII, FFVIII AND FFIX NOW!

From these Final Fantasies, FFV stood out as my favourite primarily because it's the only Final Fantasy that understands that its story isn't a masterpiece beyond comprehension and instead goes out of its way to have a sense of humour and even mock the angst of most RPG protagonists... And Bartz is the epitome of this!

This A/N is going on far too long... Basically I think Bartz is more complex than most give him credit for, and merely approaches his problems in a mature way rather than sulking in other people's faces about it. Hoping this fic does that justice. Gulp gulp, coy coy, let's go!

 **WARNING:** Spelling errors, monologues, attempts at analysing characters, an awful set of innuendos in the third paragraph that I didn't notice until I reached the 1.8k milestone, and a fic written whilst sitting on the floor in a busy university hallway!

 **From Land to Land**

There was something soothing about staring into a calmed flame. The way it swayed from side to side in total silence save for the reserved and almost shy crackle of that which is sat upon, seemingly oblivious to the toil and trouble of the waking world.

Maybe it was the smell too. A smell of warmth and nostalgia, reminding you of days long gone you'd just love to have another go at. Of unexpected journeys, fun filled times and past mistakes.

Perhaps that was the reason why Bartz Klauser found himself lost in the glow of his campfire, his unsheathed weapon strewn across his crossed legs and his striped trousers. He _had_ been giving the neglected blade a much needed sharpening, its edge as dull as the goblins he frequently laid out with it. At some point he'd stopped however, apparently finding the flickering before him a tad bit more interesting.

 _What was he, a moth?_

A couple of his kin danced around the fire curiously, the more daring of the pair swooping across the tips of red like a reckless daredevil. Leaving them to their fun and games, Bartz crooked his neck back and clicked his spine with an eye watering snap. His body deflated as he exhaled, doing its best to relax in the dusk.

Bartz had been in the region of Tycoon for just a day or two, its towering palace forever a beacon between the mountains as he rode through the plains in the day and set up camp within the treeline at night. He'd covered a lot of ground towards his destination - wherever the hell that actually was - today, and his trusty Chocobo companion Boko was expectedly knackered. The large bipedal avian... _Things_... Were a hardy bunch, but even the strongest of creatures had their limits.

And it seemed the golden featherball's was twelve hours of non-stop running with a twenty year-old man and all of his belongings balanced on your back.

Bartz couldn't complain. Not like he could do any better.

 _Well, he'd rather not try carrying a Chocobo on his back to begin with._

Boko lay flat on his stomach like a trusty farmhand's hound just across from Bartz, his eyes shut tight as he basked in the firelight. No doubt with his thick plumage of feathers there to retain all the heat, he felt pretty snug and comfortable where he slept. Was plumage even the right word for that?

Regardless, the Klauser was mildly jealous to tell you the truth. Here he was in a vest and pants with nothing but a thin travel cloak to act as an impromptu fleece from the chill of the air, while his mount snoozed peacefully in the lap of luxury. It was a potent reminder that in most cases you probably shouldn't go for style over substance.

Feeling a tad bit unmanned by the staunchness of his steed, Bartz bunched his cover tightly to his collar with one hand and reached for his fire poker with the other; a long, perfectly straight stick he found at the base of a tree that was strangely satisfying to his mind's eye.

Like a master of fencing taunting his adversary with fine sweeps and jabs, he twisted his arm and poked at the cinders of the campfire with the twig. Sparks and cinders were accompanied by a pleasing crackle, the flames gaining a renewed layer of vigour.

There was something inspirational in the passionate red that roared on silently by his feet. The way it danced, and the way it forged onwards. Fire could do so much in its brief yet eventful lifetime. It could build cities, and it could devastate them brick by brick. Man often thought that the element bowed to his every whim, but if history was anything to go by the flames were motivated by their own whim. They went where they pleased, dauntless.

And as Bartz was having his corny little monologue like a twelve year old boy who'd just learnt what philosophy was, that very flame was doing just that. That is, going wherever the hell it pleased.

Unbeknownst to him a stray cinder had hopped from the black kindling and made a mad dash for freedom, arcing through the air and landing comfortably on the toecap of the wanderer's left shoe - incidentally, his _favourite_ shoe. The smell and warmth of the campfire prevented him from noticing until a sharp sting hit him just as hard as the realisation that followed.

 **"Oh,** _ **damn**_ **!"** he cried in a strangely hushed manner, his skewed priorities not wanting to wake his snoozing cohort. Zipping to his feet with the sort of agility you only found in school children at lunch time, Bartz frantically stomped at the ground as if surrounded by cockroaches. **"Damn,** _ **damn**_ **!"** he continued to curse, the sole of his boot smouldering as he continued to beat the dirt with it. Thankfully one minute and fourteen _'damns'_ later, the crisis had been averted with no major damage outside of his pride and self-esteem.

 _What a way to kill the mood._

 **"** _ **Hoo**_ **! Hoo..."** Bartz sighed ecstatically as relief flooded him, flopping back to the floor on weakened limbs drained of adrenaline. That would've been one hell of an embarrassing way to kick the bucket, wouldn't it? Gave the phrase _'wardrobe malfunction'_ an entirely new meaning.

After a brief moment of respite, Bartz reached for the sword that he'd cast aside in the panic and carefully slid it back into its sturdy scabbard. Sticking it into the ground like a land marker, he leant his weary self against its hilt and let it take the weight from his shoulders. He licked his lower lip, chapped and sore from that morning's winds.

 _Just what was he even doing here?_

It was funny really, but like so many other things he'd actually forgotten the reason; why he wandered and roamed the land seemingly at random, going wherever the trail took him. He'd been at it for three years now. How could he have let it slip his mind? Bartz massaged his temples with his fingers, closing his eyes as he struggled to think.

Did he honestly dare to recall what led him to abandon his homestead and travel the world? Did he truly wish to remember why he'd cast his past troubles behind, and tried to begin his life anew?

He could remember Lix. It was a lovely little hamlet, nestled deep within a veil of hills and trees to the far north of Castle Walz and the far _far_ north of Castle Tycoon. Somehow it managed to make being _'generic'_ a good thing, as much sense as that made. Who knew that being completely bland, uninspiring and mind numbing could be an art form? Because whoever built his hometown was a master of the craft.

It was a tranquil place, far away from all the worries and troubles of the big cities. That was probably why his parents had decided to live there when they married. It seemed everyone knew eachother back home, young and old. Sure days were long and arduous, but for him it was fantastic. The longer the days felt, the longer you had to play around and enjoy yourself after all.

Yet after the death of his mother and his father not long after, both claimed by the same ruthless malady after months of struggle, he couldn't help but feel himself drifting away from the idyll town and its people. For some bizarre reason no matter how welcoming and accommodating the townsfolk were, he just felt like he didn't belong there anymore. It had always been dad's dying wish for him to explore the world when he was old enough, but honestly? He just wanted an excuse to escape the claustrophobia of home.

He remembered their murmurs and mutterings from the day he lost his father to the night he packed his bags for the very last time. Back then it felt like all their words were fake and empty, everyone in town adjusting the way they spoke and behaved whenever the boy with the dead parents came along.

 _ **"You poor thing."**_ they'd say. _**"You can always talk to us."**_ they'd smile toothlessly. _**"Don't act tough."**_ they'd advise him. _**"We know how you feel."**_ they'd sigh, squeezing his shoulder. To him it was all a load of bull. They were all nothing more than a bunch of opportunists aiming just to satisfy their oversized egos. In honesty he had no reason to suspect such a thing, outside his own deep set bitterness.

But that didn't matter, did it? His tether had been cut, the boat was off the moorings, and shoving his regrets to the back of his mind Bartz Klauser left his home and began a search.

What for, he wasn't quite sure.

He wandered for a while. At the age of seventeen it was a slow and arduous process, the knowledge dad had bestowed him amounting to nothing without the practical experience and tools to accompany it. It didn't take long for him to realise the sheer extent of his ignorance, and the errors of his juvenile reasoning. To have turned his back on his home and friends, disgusted in the people he'd lived beside from the cradle despite their concern for him?

 _He felt ashamed._

 _What sort of fool was he?_

From then on he told himself that he would return to Lix someday. He told himself that for three long years, every week, on the hour. Yet since the beginning his travels had done nothing but take him farther and farther from home. For some reason deep within his chest, he just couldn't bring himself to return to the place of his mother and father's death.

What of the people of Lix? What of his friends and his enemies? What of the old and the youthful? The frail and the strong? Were they still joyful? Were they still young at heart as they had been for so long? What had happened to all those names and faces in his long absence?

 _You can survive on your own. Pretty easily if you have the knowhow._

 _But you can never truly live._

He didn't mean to run from his problems, refusing to confront them for what they were. He just didn't like thinking about them, or mulling over them for any period of time. It was funny really, but that childish part of his mind that so many other young men kept well beyond their youth was afraid that if he spent too long reflecting on his sorrow, it would consume him in one big gollop.

Whatever it left behind probably wouldn't be the same Bartz Klauser. He certainly wouldn't be able to recognise it.

What was the appeal of moping around and whining about your problems at the cost of others? Honestly, who in their right mind wants to hear people sulk about how hard and difficult their lives are? Everyone from Carwen to Jacole has their _own_ issues to worry about.

So after a long day's work or whatever it was you spent your waking hours doing, satisfied that it was over and that you could have a few moments of relaxation, why in the name of all that is sacred would you want to chat about the bad things? Conversations, in his view, should've been about _positive_ things. Things you actually _wanted_ to talk about. Talking shouldn't be a task, it should come as naturally as breathing.

 _At least that's what he thought._

 _Maybe he was the one over thinking it?_

Bartz fidgeted in his place, a mean case of numb bum messing with his thought process. With the moon on its descent and the campfire dwindling, you could forgive him for feeling a tad bit heavy eyed. He sighed loudly, adjusting his tingly arms upon his sword's hilt. For supposedly being designed for maximum comfort in combat, you couldn't say the same for the shoddy thing outside of it.

The traveller had visited plenty of towns on his journeys across the world. More than he could count on his fingers _and_ toes, if you wanted to stretch that far. Some he merely ventured in to stock up on supplies before going on his merry way, the populace none the wiser. But at others he'd take the opportunity to rest for a day on an actual bed. A week in extreme cases, getting to know the prettier inn maids on a first name basis with the ever present comfort that he could come and go as he pleased.

That freedom appealed to him, in a way.

While he kept his business to himself, he always made sure that he spoke to everyone he encountered with a grin on his teeth and a song in his heart. He wasn't about to go around telling pretty ladies about his personal problems was he? Oh no, they wanted to hear stories of _action, peril, drama, romance_!

Make no mistake. If there was one thing he'd learned on the beaten path over the last three years it was that village girls _loved_ young outsiders, almost as a rule of thumb. There was something exciting in their mystery, paired with a hunky face and strong body honed by the harsh roads. Something out of their greatest and most far-out fantasies, in a world where a hero might sweep them off their feet and take them on an adventure full of wonder and merriment.

It was funny really, now that he thought about it. He was an actor when he spoke to people, playing the part of the dimwitted but jovial adventurer. Every day was a performance for him. The fact that it kept people thinking positively was payment enough. None of the girls had spoken about their difficulties when he was around, during hours and hours of one on one conversations. They wanted to forget them for a while.

 _Not that he'd remember._

 _Was it wrong?_

 _Wrong that he'd forgotten their names?_

In the end they were just faces, no matter how pleasant and jokey and happy-go-lucky he was with them. They smiled the same smiles, laughed the same tunes, and blushed the same hues. Everything he did he did with the knowledge that he'd probably never meet them again. It meant that nothing would tie him down, forcing him to face reality. It was cowardice at its highest calibre.

He supposed that's what he was in the grand scheme of things. A coward, unable to face the music and the challenges of life like a normal human being. It had to be a constant, bright eyed high in his world. Like a child, he just couldn't deal with the lows.

 _What would his parents think?_

 _The legacy of Stella and Dorgann Klauser, no more than a mewling and deluded oaf._

 _He'd share their disappointment._

The fire was on its last legs, crumbling at its roots. The only sign that it still bore any life was the faint line of smoke that rose from a casket of ashen twigs. At this point it was less of a campfire and more of a candlelight. Bartz looked over the pit, followed by Boko, followed by lines of trees, and at last gazed at the coming of dawn above as it struggled to pierce through the forest canopy.

There was no movement from the branches, or their leaves. Not even the ever present rustle as oaks and willows swayed from side to side. They were completely motionless in the absence of wind, the blanket above as still as a corpse. It was a peculiar sight. It was a little bit discomforting if he was going to be honest.

Bartz Klauser would go back one day.

 _He always said that._

But he meant it this time.

 _He always said that too._

Maybe this time it would be different. He'd come far from his childhood home, a life of perpetual motion having developed both his mind and his body. He was stronger now, and growing with every day. Breaking free from the bonds of Lix he'd been able to at last experience what the world had to offer him. Perhaps he could gather that newfound wisdom, and bring it back to the hamlet?

The wanderer may have still been troubled deep down, but there would be a time when even that passed on, and he'd feel as light as the face he let on to those he'd encountered on the way.

There would probably even be a time where he didn't feel all alone and secluded, with only his trusty chocobo as company. Where he didn't feel as if he had to shroud his every thought from those that surrounded him.

But until then he'd dream.

 _Of his home, sweet home._

Waking the forest with an early morning racket, a shrill whistle filled the air. It almost sounded like a sickly child breathing with a blocked nostril, giving off long uninterrupted sniffles and snorts. Bartz hiked up his sword and hauled himself unsteadily to his feet, feeling very much like an overflowing bag of greasy chips.

Even Boko stirred from his reverie like a father a week after the baby had been born, rising to a low squat upon shaky, backwards knees with a certain dazedness about him. The pair looked up through the green canopy's peephole, staring into the ocean of the morning sky. They both recognised what it was immediately, not that they had seen one before.

 _A meteor._

A meteor was streaming across the sky, like a artisan's paintbrush across a mile-long canvas. It certainly added a splash of variety and pep to an otherwise bland and generic horizon, not that the Klauser was much of an expert on those sort of things.

Regardless, it was _big._

Very _big._

Frighteningly _big._

B, I, G, _big._

 _And it was coming this way._

Swinging around like a curve ball, it came lower and lower. Bartz instinctively lowered his head as it brushed perilously close to the treeline with a terrifying _whoosh_ , sending a violent turbulence through the forest path and messying his perpetual bedhead.

Temporarily deafened by the sound of a thousand trees struggling to stay planted in the earth, he patiently ruffled his short white hair in an attempt to restore it to its former glory. After a grand effort he managed to collect himself and put it back to just the right degree of messiness that comfortably straddled the line between " _calm and collected_ " and " _unhygienic buffoon_ ".

And of course _that_ was ruined as the rough rumble of the great rock setting down shook through the ground, what sounded like a thirty foot tall door being slammed shut adding to an already debilitating migraine. Bartz pulled apart the curtain of his fringe, wondering if his steed shared his woes.

 _No luck._

 _If birds could smirk, his would be as wide as a wyvern's maw._

Well, what else did you expect him to do? A wanderer is always lost, looking for a thread to clutch onto and pull them along the way. Swiping his burnt boot across the dirt the traveller covered what remained of his fire, gesturing the one gesture that only he and Boko understood.

After a brief delay, Bartz Klauser mounted up and rode off through the forest in search of the comet's landing site, due north to the mountain passage that led towards the enigmatic Castle Tycoon.

He found something at that meteor's resting site.

He found Lenna Tycoon, a young maiden girl whose beauty was trumped only by her affinity and kindness to all living things.

He found Galuf Doe, a grumbling old man that while absent of mind more than made up for it in sheer force of will and pride to match.

But most of all he found something that he thought he'd lost ages ago. Something that had never truly left him, and had stood hiding in plain sight since the very moment his travels had began. Something that only needed the input of friendship and camaraderie to bloom to its fullest.

He found his courage.

X

 _(A/N): Eh._

 _That's all I have to say on the criticism side. Had a bunch of ideas for potential FFV fics, but I settled on this primarily because I found Bartz on a top 10 list of worst Final Fantasy characters! I feel like whoever made that list never actually played most of FFV, and were too used to characters like Squall just telling you upfront that he isn't happy :P_

 _Other fic ideas included an Exdeath comedy fic set during his time as a splinter in Krile's foot, and another was actually a crossover between FFV and Kingdom Hearts of all things which would explore Faris as a character... But the Exdeath thing seemed too awkward to work, and that crossover would've been multiple chapters long and I'm not the most reliable person when it comes to chapters xD_

 _Regardless, while I'm disappointed in my work I hope this fic made the last half hour or so palatable. That's my mission after all!_


End file.
